Big wheels keep on turning

For my last day down in Manchester I thought about seeing all the sights I've been meaning to investigate since I started coming down here each weekend to stay with Tia.

I decided however to go the same spot I go to every Saturday: the concrete seats at the base of the big wheel, which is the epicentre of the 1996 IRA bombings now that I think about it. My little weekend ritual is to visit Afflecks to search out vintage flannel shirts, a brief walk through the Arndale, grabbing some slices of pepperoni and spicy chicken pizza and a can of coke, then sitting here to watch whatever is on the big telly while I munch my way though it.

I'm surprised at how sad I am that it's my last weekend down here, I never thought I'd grow as attached to the place as I have.